


Golden Gate Bridge

by tavrosroofies (troof)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Blowjobs, Body Worship, Bottom Shiro (Voltron), Dirty Talk, Hoverbikes, Humiliation, M/M, Office Sex, Roleplay, bad boy shiro, cheesy porn acting, dubcon roleplay, post voltron series but everyone's alive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-05 00:48:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17908877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/troof/pseuds/tavrosroofies
Summary: "What is it?” Keith deposits his own stack on the floor with a plop and comes over to see what Shiro's looking at."Disciplinary records."---Or, it comes to Keith's attention that Shiro's never been in trouble before. He sets out to fix that right quick.





	Golden Gate Bridge

They're cleaning out an old office at the Garrison to make it ready for the new occupants. Shiro thinks that senior officers would have something better to be doing on a Saturday morning, but in reality, you never stop paying your dues. 

He's carrying a stack of folders and binders from the room when he recognizes the one on top. It's leather-bound, with stitches around the edge of a cover that's wine-dark.

He clears his throat. “Hey, Keith, found something.”

“What is it?” Keith deposits his own stack on the floor with a plop and comes over to see what Shiro's looking at.

“Disciplinary records.”

Silence hangs in the air until Keith makes a face and pulls the corners of his mouth down like he's just tasted something acrid. “They still have those? I thought they would have tossed those ages ago.”

Shiro chuckles. “The Garrison has a way of holding onto things.” As a former senior cadet, he knows. Every secret, black mark, every ancient grudge. It's all there, buried in the woodwork, beneath stacks of paper forgotten in the thick of the next mission. But when they're under invasion, no one cares who you were, the only thing you can offer them in the heat of the moment.

Shiro scrunches his eyebrows, looks down at the dust-covered binder and thinks back. He thinks he counts six years. A few passed since they defeated the Galra, but they're still feeling the repercussions of it as a military. After all they've been through--outer space, the Galra, the war--the place it reminds him of, the one where all you had to worry about was homework and curfews every night, seems so far away. 

“It's been a long time, that's for sure,” says Keith.  
For Keith, it really has been. Since the voyage on the whale, he's experienced two more years than everyone else. Shiro himself doesn't do well with keeping time anymore after his time on the astral plane. It might be six years, but then, neither of them really knows. “Can I see?” Shiro passes him the binder and leaves his stack on the floor. He tries to play it cool but Keith's dripping with curiosity.

Keith flips through the papers, the forms signed with red ink assigning punishments to cadets. Logs of incidents, alphabetically arranged. He flips through until he finds what he's looking for.

KOGANE, K. 

“Oh my god, Shiro, this is it.”

“This is what?”

“This is the incident that got me kicked out of the Garrison!”

“When you punched Iverson for pinning the Kerberos story on me?”

“Yes, that one!”

Now Shiro's curious. He crowds Keith over his shoulder but has to pull back at the last second because of how big his bicep is, so he settles for letting his jaw hover just above the juncture of Keith's neck. He was away on mission being exploited by the Galra, so he never saw the report from this incident. 

It's bad. Really bad. Iverson must have been scathing when he wrote it because the scrawl of his writing is more pronounced than usual and faintly, fingerprints of smudged ink bruise the page. 

“You okay, Shiro?”

“Huh?” Keith turns to look at him and they're so close their noses almost bump together. 

“Your eyes are turning into those flying saucers.”

“Oh, I--just never saw the report before.” He tries to school his face into what he thinks is a cool expression, but he's never been good at that around Keith. “He jokes about it now. On Atlas. He tells quite a few stories on the bridge.”

“I...try not to mention it.” At the time, he deserved it, but they've had that conversation before. Now that they both work with Iverson, he doesn't seem like a bad guy. Of course, Shiro was ruffled to learn that he kicked out his favorite cadet, but Keith left him no choice. Shiro's first problem with Iverson was that he never seemed to see the potential in Keith that Shiro kept insisting on was there. He was fair, but he never talked to Keith as if he saw the best in him, was only letting him continue because he was on Shiro's probation. Shiro tried and tried to get him to see otherwise, but he could only do so much. They're good now; things come with time.

Shiro puts a hand on Keith's shoulder, and it shifts under his touch. Not throwing him off, never throwing him off, but reactionary, content. “I'm sure he's not mad at you anymore. You made up with him, right?”

“Yeah, but who's gonna be mad at the leader of Voltron?”

“I know several people.”

“Right. You should try talking to aliens on the planet Drazan when you're trying to find a restroom and they're celebrating Clear Day. That was not an experience I'd repeat again.”

Shiro thinks back to their good-natured break he orchestrated before stopping Haggar. Citizens were...demanding, to say the least. He's suddenly grateful the Atlas never needs gas. Interplanetary markets? Cutthroat.

Keith coughs in the brume of dust lingering in the air and moves to open a window. The morning sunlight comes in sharper than before and brings with it a welcoming gust of cold air that refreshes the lungs. “God, why do they have us doing this?” he asks as he sticks his head out the window. Once he's sucked in his fill, he closes it and ducks back inside. “The Garrison can clean their own storage. It's like I'm being punished all over again.” He throws the binder to the side with the other useless papers.

“You and me both.”

Keith looks up at Shiro like he's seeing him for the first time. 

“You have a record?”

Shiro hastens to correct. “No, no! I was always too-”

“--perfect for that, no doubt. I know you snuck out, but you're meaning to tell me you never got caught?”

“Everyone snuck out, Keith, a lot more people than you know.” It was almost a thing among the higher-ups. Before Shiro became a lieutenant, he heard about cadets breaking curfew like wildfire. If you were smart about it, it was almost a rite of passage, and he knew plenty of people that had done so intelligently.

This quiets Keith for a second. He was a rebel in his own way, but he didn't hang out with a crowd. He was more of a lone shooting star--in Shiro's eyes, at least. “What did you do with them?” he whispers, as if he's afraid to hear the answer.

Shiro rests on his hands and sits back on the cheap wood desk, lower leg dangling off the table surface and not quite reaching the floor. He wants to tell a story, because he hasn't talked about this aspect of his early days as a cadet in a long time. He can see that Keith's interested. But maybe--cautious. Threatened by the idea that someone else could have shown him a special time. And Shiro doesn't want him to feel that way. Keith's always had a monopoly on the nights he snuck out of the Garrison. There were other ones, but the best ones were always with Keith.

“They did crack down on it before you came in, though. The punishments became more severe.”

“Even for senior cadets?” Keith raises an eyebrow.

“Even so.”

“What about when you were an officer?” 

“I shouldn't have been sneaking you out. That was still firmly verboten,” he says, but he makes direct eye contact with Keith as he says it, hoping to convey to him that he doesn't regret a damn thing.

Keith throws his head back and snorts, and Shiro's eyes track the pale column of his neck like a dog would a bone. “So you really were a delinquent.”

“Adam had a record.” Keith jolts at the mention of the name and he doesn't curl his hands into fists, but his fingers twitch like they want to, like a crab scuttling back out to sea. Now that the band-aid's off, he's already talking, he can't stop now. “Adam taught me a lot of what I knew. The nights the guards would be a little lenient, how to muffle the roar of the hoverbike so no one would pursue us until we were out in the desert--”

“How to sneak up to the roof?”

He cracks a smile at this one. “No, that came after. I tried bringing him once but he could never appreciate the stars. He liked mornings. He'd be a daytime pilot, if he could choose.”

“Did you break curfew with Adam at the same time you were doing it with me?” Keith's leaning back against the wall across from Shiro, all his weight slumped against the plaster, but he's not crossing his arms. He's just--waiting for what Shiro has to say.

“No, I didn't. By the time I was doing it with you, we had stopped doing it a long time ago.” A long, long time ago. The spark in their relationship had started fading earlier than Shiro realized, and for the longest time, he didn't know how to let go. 

He's talked about Adam with Keith. Mostly because when he found himself back on Earth, he wanted to reconnect because seeing that he was alive, Adam was at least owed an explanation, and Shiro wanted to be transparent. He doesn't like to, out of respect for Keith and maybe a little bit for himself, but it comes up inevitably as a product of their pasts. Keith understands that, but he's said that knowing what that man did to Shiro's heart, it sours the mood a little.

He crosses the room, slips his knuckles behind the loose strands of hair and cups Keith's jaw, and leaning in close until there's no mistaking his intent. He kisses Keith full on the lips, pressing their lips together and then sliding back minutely so there's enough room between them to tease out Keith's tongue, but Keith has his own plans and surges up to meet Shiro, too fast so that their tongues clack and it's harder to get the steady push-pull of open mouths that they want.

“You may call me a delinquent, but I knew you needed it,” Shiro says, still holding Keith's chin in his flesh hand but not controlling, only cradling. “You grew up in an orphanage, I knew you needed to see the freedom of the world that was out there. Or you wouldn't believe what you were working for.”

The arms looped around his neck tighten and Keith pulls him closer in, frantic for a kiss. Shiro pushes him back against the wall again and Keith's hair is going to be so messed up after this, worse than when he gets out of bed, and the loose braid he has it in isn't going to do anything to save it. Gently, he takes a handful of Keith's hair in his right hand, and licks into Keith's mouth, thorough and dirty. Keith moans like he can't help it, and fuck, Shiro knows he can't.

He pulls back and admires Keith in his gray uniform, not his paladin one but the one akin to the one all officers wear at the Garrison, issued to him just because technically he was still part of the Garrison staff. Or, he wasn't, but they wanted him to be. Keith thought he would be gracious and accept.

This is all he wants. Keith _made it._

“Shiro--” 

His name comes out as a strangled noise, but apparently, Keith isn't done kissing, because he rushes towards Shiro and when Shiro steps back to draw it out a little longer, he slips on a pile of paperwork they still have to sort through and they both go crashing to the floor, Shiro quietly in awe that his Altean arm can still feel pain.

Keith's knee is near his groin. But no one's hurt and Keith doesn't even seem to realize that they fell, for the way he leans up and takes Shiro's lips anyways, as if they were a prize sitting here and waiting for him all this time. Shiro stops him with a hand on his chest because he wants to make this better, for both of them.

Most of this building is empty. These offices are the last ones. 

They stand up and look at each other awkwardly, and Shiro goes, “Lance did say we'd end up fucking in this room.” 

“Pidge said that too. I didn't think she was right. We have some self-control, don't we?” They glance between each other uneasily, and Shiro doesn't know how to answer that. 

“My office. Afterwards. Let's hurry and finish up.”

“Oh, no. After what we've discussed, I think it's you who should be in mine.” Keith smirks, and that sliver of a promise shoots straight to his cock. He takes a deep breath and waits for it to pass. “No record, huh? We'll work something out.”

\---

Keith's office is in a different building than the one they're in now, so once they finish, they lock up and race across the desert to run from the cold night air. The coyotes are out tonight, and he can hear them howling in the background as the wind whips through Keith's hair. 

Shiro realizes tonight that what they're doing isn't so different from what they used to do before Voltron, before Kerberos. Sneaking around the Garrison must be in their blood. 

Keith smashes his hand against the palm reader and Shiro thinks he's stunned the software, but then the door slides open and Keith's dragging him by his prosthetic down the hall. They turn the corner and there it is: the office of K. Shirogane.

Keith flips on the light and it's the only light Shiro can see for several feet. Most of the Garrison is in bed, or they've gone home.

“Close the door.” Shiro does as he's told, and Keith takes a seat behind his desk. “I'm not too good of a porn actor, so you'll have to bear with me here.”

Shiro can't keep the smile off his face. “When have I not?”

Keith giggles. “Shut up and take your seat. It wasn't hard for you last time, if I remember correctly.”

Shiro takes his seat, but his voice morphs into something low and husky. “Oh, but when you're self-deprecating, you never know what's going to come out of my mouth. I can't praise you all the time.” He could, of course, and Keith knows that, but it's different for their little game. Keith's mouth hardens into a thin line. 

Instead of refuting it, he just says, “Because everyone wants to be a porn actor, right,” and then he takes a moment to compose himself and fold his hands calmly on top of the table. Shiro likes to rile him up. It makes this so much better. “While he was on patrol, Griffin found you out after curfew. Care to explain yourself?”

Shiro adopts his best apologetic look, playing up the puppy dog eyes he's seen cadets give him a hundred times. He tries to make himself smaller in the chair, but it's not giving him much room to hide.

“I-I was just practicing with my hoverbike. I wasn't going far, just to the edge of the cliff and I was going to come back, I swear. It won't happen again.”

Keith dramatically rips a paper from the stack on the organizer, takes a pen from the cup and starts scribbling something down in front of him. “Illegal hoverbike racing...that's not going to look good for the Golden Boy of the Garrison.”

“‘Golden Boy?’ Who said I was that?”

Keith puts the pen in his mouth and leans back to cross his boots on the table, right in Shiro's face. “You're Takashi Shirogane, right? Your class's number-one cadet? Top-notch sim scores, dreams of going on the Kerberos mission?” And he's heard people lay it out like that, knew Keith admired him, but this? It does something to his pride, even though he knows in a second he's going to rip it all away.

“Captain--” he almost says “Shirogane,” but he catches himself at the last minute, and Keith startles, “Kogane, sir, you've heard about me?”

Keith clicks the pen in his mouth and leans forward again, placing his feet under the table. “ _Everyone's_ heard about you. I just didn't think I’d be seeing you tonight, especially this late, when I thought you would be in bed.”

The way he says _in bed_ stokes something in Shiro, even though he knows it's just an innocuous remark. He knows what Keith's thinking. They're both hurtling towards it like an engine getting ready for launch.

But then he remembers himself. He doesn't know this officer. He's never worked with him, doesn't know what he could do. Is he predictable, unpredictable, fair, lazy? He seems cold, emotionless.

“Is that all you have for me?” Keith asks.

“I wasn't racing, I--” Keith holds up a hand, and Shiro stops talking just as soon as he started. “You _know_ we can't put you on the mission after this, right? I know you weren't racing, but it doesn't matter. You were out past curfew. It's a serious offense. And I know this isn't your first warning on the matter.”

He grapples for something to say, but words won't come out. He doesn't know if he thought Keith would be good at this, or bad at this, but it's taking him back to the time he thought he would never be a part of the Kerberos mission and it feels like he's falling out. 

“Shirogane, am I right?” Kogane taps his fingers on the desk. “Kerberos would have been quite the mission to be on. The mission of the century.”

Something doesn't make sense. Normally, any cadet would have been dismissed right now. Kogane's goading him, as if he wants a response.

He wants to accept responsibility. Say _sir, I understand._ But that's not what they're going for tonight. Tonight, he's fighting for Kerberos.

He straightens his back, sits up. “Sir, how do you know I wasn't racing?”

“I'm sorry?”

“How do you know I wasn’t _racing?_ I could have been, as far as you're concerned, or did you have Griffin follow me? You also said it wasn't my first warning, and you wouldn't know that unless you've been keeping tabs.”

Keith drops his pen, which clatters loudly on the table, places his hands flat on the wood and gets down so his breath fans across Shiro's face. “Officers talk. You think that you're special?”

Shiro inhales on a shaky breath because he can't breathe when Keith's this close, but he makes himself go on. “There was an incident last year. A woman who was obsessed with me barged into the men's barracks and took pictures while I was sleeping.” Not really, but it's invention for the sake of the story. “We didn't find out for weeks. I know what this whole ‘golden boy’ thing means. People get obsessed.”

Keith stands up to his full height and Shiro looks up at him, towering over Shiro. “And you're saying I am?”

“Not saying, asking. Thinking out loud. That if I offered something, you might take it.”

“H-holy shit, Shiro, you're offering? I thought I was gonna have to tell you to beg, or something.”

“You still can, baby, I'm yours for the night.” He stands up to peck Captain Kogane on the lips, and he stands there, dumbfounded, unable to process what just happened. “That if I offered something, you might take it.”

He has the captain's interest, now. “I'll be your slave for the night. I'll worship you, better than you've ever been worshiped before. You won't even have to decide if you want my lips on your boots or your cock because I'll eagerly do both. If you want it, I'll be your cum-bucket. You're an attractive man.” Fuck, that's such an understatement. Keith's begging for it right now. He can see it in his eyes, and his aggravated brow. “In exchange for a clean record, of course. You won't talk about this with anyone.”

“No,” Keith says shakily, “No, of course not. Get on the desk.”

Shiro makes to sit on the edge of the desk, but Keith instructs him to turn around. What he should have said was “bend over,” but words didn't come out that way. He wiggles his hips as Keith shimmies his uniform pants down his thighs, but it's a tight fit anyways. Keith doesn't bother to undo his belt or his zipper, and it's killing Shiro's dick until the pants are down over his hips, and he has breathing room. 

Keith's breath tickles his ear. “Get ready, I'm going to taste you.”

What--

Then Keith's hand is prying him apart, and his tongue’s licking where it's warm and private and _sensitive_. Shiro lets out a soft whimper and goes white-knuckled where his fingers are clutching the far edge of the desk. Keith moans, encouraging, and Shiro can feel the embarrassment return from when he was still new to this.

Keith can do this, sure, but this isn't Keith. Not his Keith. This is Captain Kogane, and he has no right--

“Aaah.” 

Shiro gasps and clenches against Keith's tongue. He doesn't know why, because he's not doing anything besides laving the flat of his tongue against his spit-slick rim. He won't dip inside, just tighten his grasp on the meat of Shiro's buttocks and he's already digging his toes into the rug, shifting back erratically--

“No.” Shiro's tormentor pulls back with a slap that startles his pleasure-addled brain but doesn't bring him any closer to coherency. “You want something inside, you beg.”

He wants to say something snappy, but then he remembers Kerberos and the deal he made. The Captain gives an order and he bites his tongue and gets up on the desk like he's told to, on his back this time because Keith wants to run his hands all over. 

Keith strips him of his blouse and his Garrison pants are discarded on the floor. He doesn't pause over his scars like he's used to, just runs his hands over the planes of Shiro's chest to massage the muscle. He lingers around the left nipple, drawing circles along the skin around the nub but never coming close enough to actually touch. He draws a finger down the cleft of Shiro's abs, watching his stomach cave as he gets closer to Shiro's dick, and watching that dick twitch toward his stomach as precum wells at the tip.

He's hard. And leaking.

Keith positions his hand over Shiro's dick and he bucks up his hips, plaintive, but that hand floats away before he can ever get close. Keith moves the hand to stroke at the hairs of his inner thigh, and Shiro can't help but widen his legs for him.

“I said _all_ over, slut. Or can I call you Takashi?” The name hurts, but he reminds himself that it's only Keith calling him that, and he accepts the flame burning in his cheeks as it pools down to his gut.

“Shiro's fine.”

“Shiro? Is that what your friends call you?”

“Like you don't already know.”

Keith smiles and trails his fingers up to Shiro's knee, kneading along the line of muscle there and holding it up. Shiro closes his eyes and shudders at the gentle touch. He offered himself up to the Captain, but Kogane doesn't want him like that. He only wants his submission.

He expects Keith to go down to his feet and kiss his ankles since he's mocking in the way he treats him like a lover, but Keith doesn't. Instead, he circles back to Shiro's hips. 

“And what do you want me to call you when I come, ‘Captain?’” If he can call Keith by his name, he can at least gain back some dignity, here.

“You're still a cadet, aren't you?”

“I just thought you might want a more personalized touch.”

“Mm.” Keith makes a noncommittal grunt. “Close your eyes.” 

Shiro does as he's told.

In the darkness, he feels it much more when Keith rubs the pad of his thumb back and forth across the jut of his hips. Keith touches him, all over. Dips fingers into his belly button and scrapes over the coarse hairs at the base of his cock. He must be red by now. His balls feel heavy. It's all he can do to bite his lip and keep his fingers tight on the short edge of the desk.

Keith's pinky brushes his cock and he shouts, bucking up clumsily on the hard surface of his desk. Then he thuds down painfully and Keith's hand's enclosing his shaft, a tight grip of warmth that Shiro wants to be in indefinitely. He strokes him slowly, applying pressure towards the tip and Shiro can feel himself dripping, jerking when Keith catches the precum by rubbing his thumb over the slit. 

Normally, this is the time where he would tell Shiro he's beautiful.

He doesn't.

“You wanna know why you're not worshiping me right now?” Keith asks. Shiro cracks an eye open. He does, but it's pretty hard to wonder when he's being taken care of so tauntingly, so he long ago put that out of his mind. Keith gets down on his level, then talks over him. He's still gently squeezing Shiro's cock. “You haven't been in trouble much, have you?” Shiro shakes his head, and does his best to keep his hips still. “I can tell. When you first offered to be my slave, you did it to stay out of trouble, but you're already in it. This is your punishment. You're not in control. I could keep you here and edge you.”

“Hn.” He flashes back to what it feels like to experience denial for hours on end. The constant attention to his cock. What it feels like to cum afterwards. Keith speeds up his hand and Shiro squirms on the table. He knows he's just going to let go as soon as he gets close to coming, but he expects that. He deserves that. But what about after? “Please, sir, can I suck your cock?” he gasps, breath pushing the boundaries of his lungs.

“No,” Keith says, massaging Shiro's balls in the other hand and rubbing his thumb along the foreskin, “I don't think I like that, you've been a bad boy. For all that you're eager to please.”

Keith really does think this sometimes. When Shiro wants to go the diplomatic route and Keith thinks that they can easily fight their adversary into submission, they talk it out. Sometimes Keith is right, and sometimes Shiro's wrong. But it's always hard to say. 

“Please.” Shiro cranes his neck to stretch his lips to where Keith's within arm's distance tenting his pants, but at that moment, Keith leans down and seals his lips over the head of Shiro's cock.

“Fuck!”

“Feels good, doesn't it?”

Shiro slams his fist against the head of the desk and regains his grip on the surface while Keith sucks and mouths his way down the shaft. “Ungrateful little bitch. You know, I think I like you like this. I'm rather glad you snuck out.” Shiro moans. Keith sucks one ball into his mouth then deepthroats him, and it's all Shiro can do to keep his feet on the table. Weakly, he pushes his foot against Keith's shoulder, and Keith kisses his ankle and puts it back. He feels so out of control here, like he's suspended in a liquid and and can't find a way to push up towards the surface.

Keith pulls off and sinks down again, and he chokes on the way up. He doesn't realize it first, but Shiro comes into Keith's mouth, white spurting between his lips and over the table. Keith rubs his hands in it on the wood and brings it up to Shiro's face, not putting it in his mouth but smearing it on his cheek like eye black before a football game.

He collapses on Shiro's chest, still wearing the uniform.

“Bad boy,” he says, shaking a finger at Shiro.  
Shiro tries to catch it in his mouth but Keith keeps him back with a palm in his face that's still covered in semen. “So...how am I doing?” Keith's face looks adorable and his lips are swollen. Shiro's proud to know that he did that while he was working on _him_.

“You were so desperate to keep control from me that you made me lie down and sucked me off?”

Keith huffs and blows air at his bangs that are currently sticking to his face with sweat. “Uh, yeah. You like being on your knees, there's no punishment in that. Besides, I just...felt really attracted to you today.”

In other words, he’s horny. Keith ducks his head and hopes his forehead hides his blush, but Shiro can see it anyway. Shiro clasps his hands together behind Keith's back and kisses the part of his hair. 

They don't mention that he has problems with vulnerability, and he rarely opens up enough to let Keith inside. They're working to fix it. “That's kind of the point. Well...I feel the same about you too. And I really, really, _really_ \--”

“Okay, fine! You can suck your captain's probably old, inappropriately-hard dick.” _Yes._ “Is that what you wanna hear?” Keith crawls off the desk and stands up, shucking his pants, and Shiro scrambles to kneel on the floor. 

“Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir, I've been a bad boy.” He kisses the length in front of him, and drags the flat of his tongue over a vein on the side. Keith's cock is a shade lighter than his, and adorably cute. “I've always been a bad boy. I've been sucking dick for longer than you know.”

Keith bends over and anchors his hands in Shiro's hair. He takes him down as far as he can, and Keith switches their positions so he can support his weight on the desk behind him. The intimacy of Keith filling his mouth--

Keith makes these little choked-off noises and Shiro's trying to look up at him but he can't even hold eye contact now. Keith's eyes are squeezed shut with the desire to keep from coming, and everything feels so right. Shiro eases off so he can suckle at the tip, although he misses the stretch of his lips around the base, but Keith has righted himself and is breathing normally again. 

That's right. Take it easy, Shiro, you don't want to overwhelm him. 

Mostly, he limits himself to just taking down the first few inches, and that's good enough for him. He watches the captain's eyelashes flutter and encourages him to use his hands to bob his head, as they are tangled around his crown and in his forelock.

Then he swallows him again, and watches him fall apart.

Reluctantly, he's pulled back by a hand on his head when his throat's starting to feel raw, and he parts from his objective with a loud slurping sound and a trail of saliva still connected to his upper lip. He takes Keith's dick in his hand and rubs it against his cheek, trying to convey through his body that he would do anything he asked, anything.

He palms himself as Keith's coming down, and though Keith sees it, he doesn't remark. “Figures that the Golden Boy's good at giving blowjobs,” he says, breathless. Shiro just wants to kiss him right there. He goes for Keith’s boots, but as soon as Keith sees his intention, he grabs him by the fringe and tugs him up. He shakes his head and mouths “no.” After he gets the lube out of the top drawer, he collapses into the swivel chair, and Shiro gets his chance.

He climbs on top of Keith's lap and straddles his legs, and takes his lips by surprise. Keith looks up at him like he's been betrayed and then slips a wet finger down to Shiro's ass, over the cleft and then down, stopping just short of where he wants it. “You know, you've--given me a lot more than I could have asked for, and that's certainly more than I could give you.” Shiro looks at him strangely as his finger hovers over his pucker, getting ready to breach but not quite. “Taking you off of the Kerberos mission, yeah, right, like I could ever. Illegal racing, you think anyone would ever believe that? Sure, one night you were out after curfew, but you're a hero to us all. I dreamed of you like this so many times, and every time, you were--” 

“Fuck me.” Keith's getting ahead of himself now, and his voice is gravelly and heavy with emotion in the way that breaks Shiro every time. “I need you, sir, I need it.”

Keith's mouth drops open in feigned surprise. “You don't need to pretend anymore, you're free to go. I won't fuck you if you don't want it.”

Instantly, the tension relaxes in the room. He must be fascinating indeed if he can change the heart of the Captain. But then he remembers what Keith said at the beginning about wanting him to beg. His skin is still slick from the lube Keith teased between his cheeks, and his captor's dick is still hard in front of him.

“What if I do want it?” He slides forward so the shaft of Keith's dick is right under his asscheeks, then grinds down and spreads himself so that the head catches against his hole. 

“Do you?”

“Yes.” This elicits an answering, desperate moan. Keith's hand returns to rub lube around his rim, and after only a few circles, he makes Shiro see stars and lets him hide his face in his shoulder. 

He holds Shiro tenderly, and while he's got three fingers in, Shiro's kissing up his neck and the line of his jaw and even mouthing at his temple. A strange thought that occurs to him is that Keith has long, bony fingers, pianist fingers if he ever decided to play an instrument instead of taking up a knife. He doesn't feel like he's being stretched so much as he's riding them, being carried away to a place that throws pleasure up your spine that's far from here. 

“Shiro? Shiro.” Keith's whispering his name and suddenly he's not the Garrison officer anymore, he's just Keith in a wrinkled uniform and Shiro couldn't possibly love him more. Shiro helps Keith line himself up and he sinks down, slowly, while Keith presses in and tries not to hurt him but it still burns a bit anyways. The first breach where Keith slips in his entire cockhead is a jolt to Shiro and he cries out, but after that, they're more careful, and Shiro can feel every inch of Keith's cock as he fights the urge to clench around it. 

“Mm.”

“Can I move?”

“Give me a second.”

It's actually Shiro who moves first. He thinks he's going to push up, then drop down at a leisurely pace, but Keith thrusts up as soon as there's space between his thighs and Shiro's, and it nearly takes the air out of his chest. He tries to ride Keith, but it quickly turns into a lazy grind when Keith finds his prostate and doesn't seem to want to move.

“There, there, there!”

“You want me to give it to you there?”

Keith looks thrilled as he gasps his pleasure to Shiro. Shiro thinks it's good, but then he brackets Shiro's hips with his hands and starts bouncing him up and down on his cock and he feels--impaled, but the banging of something blunt against his prostate combined with the warmth inside him isn't anything he's ever been able to get used to.

They stop in the middle of the first round to apply more lube. Keith comes first and he's horrified, but Shiro likes the feel of the wet-hot seed inside of him and follows shortly after.

Sometime during the second, Shiro gets tired of pretending like he shouldn't kiss Keith for all he's worth, and Keith gets hot enough to remove his blouse. 

Shiro's legs give out and Keith decides to fuck him on the desk, missionary. He has to climb up too because the desk's too high for him to do it from the floor, and Shiro wraps his legs around his torso like he never wants to let go.

\---

They wash off in the Garrison showers. Not the communal ones by the training room, but individual ones set aside in the corner of the building for those officers that are staying late. But it reminds him of when they would shower together after sparring, Keith's shoes outside next to his just close enough to arouse suspicion but never being enough to prove anything. Not unless the person walking by could see what they did when they were alone. 

It takes him back. When they were cadets here they had no idea what was in store for them, both of them living their every day inside a strictly-regulated, similarly-populated bubble. Some people were friendly. Shiro genuinely misses the people he spent time around and the cadets he started teaching. But Shiro was dying. Has he already forgotten that? It was strange to wake up with no illness in his body and Keith supporting him in his arms--it was more than he could ever dream.

Sometimes he just watches the water fall and appreciates his future here. He had fun tonight. He laughs again at the idea that Keith could think he was a delinquent, but Keith grew up in an orphanage. He had an excuse. Did Shiro ever? He grew up with two loving parents and two loving grandparents who sort of weren't okay with him being gay, but he at least made it to fifteen without any deaths in the family. He wanted to come to the Garrison his entire life, and go on a flight to space.

Keith wants to towel off before him, so he waits outside the room while Shiro finishes. They always shower together after sex, but lately Keith's been protesting his extra-long showers because he “doesn't want to shrivel up like a hot prune.” That's okay with Shiro; he'll take as long as he likes while the steam rises and water drums a rhythm against the white tile.

“You ready?” Keith pokes his head in after a couple minutes and Shiro hasn't moved.

“Uh, yeah. Give me a second.”

Keith narrowly refrains from rolling his eyes, already dressed and clad in his faux-leather jacket that's red and oddly similar to the one he wore as a cadet. “You're going to be cold outside anyways, it's freezing.”

“Not if I put on my jacket. Remember, I went to the motorcycle shop and got leather jacket and pants just like you. I'll be warm.”

“ _If_ you ever put them on,” Keith says, smiling around his teeth. Shiro finished washing off a long time ago, and now he's just enjoying the spray.

“Why, is there something waiting for you at home?” He shuts off the shower head and steps out.

Keith looks down at the ground, and leans his weight further into the wall, arms loosely crossed. “I kind of wanted to go again. On a real bed.”

“That wasn't enough?”

Keith's eyes widen and he stands up straight like he's been electrocuted. “I--”

“Shh, baby.” Shiro presses his back against the wall and kisses him gently, deeply, trying to give him everything he needs with only his lips, tongue, and jaw. He boxes him in by putting his arms overhead, and he has no towel on. He's wet, and he's dripping over Keith who places his hands flat on his chest and acts like he doesn't mind. 

Keith doesn't even push back, so Shiro pushes forward, ravaging Keith's mouth by sliding their tongues together and pushing his tongue in further than he should for that little touch of domination, and then he pulls back and sucks on his bottom lip gently, leaving him open-mouthed and wanting.

“Come on.”

Shiro hastens to pull his clothes on in the bathroom, then leads the way to Keith's hoverbike he has parked in the sand across the road. Keith follows with the keys, pulls on his helmet, and hops on in front. They ride off into the desert, all sound drowned out by the roar of the engine except the wind in their ears, rushing by as they're headed for home.

**Author's Note:**

> i h8 season 8


End file.
